Page 160 of Powerless

I want to stare into his face, the one without the mask that I have glimpsed so many times before. I watch as his eyes roam over me, over my body still pressed beneath his, over my hair messily spread across his pillow.

Almost as though he is committing me to memory.

I swallow under his gaze, which only manages to drop his eyes to my neck where I can feel a flush rising. No, not just a flush. My neck stings. Suddenly remembering that my hands are still on his face, I slowly drop them to bring my fingers to my neck.

His swift hand catches my wrist before running his fingers gently over my throat. I barely suppress a shudder at his touch, at the feel of his callouses brushing my flushed skin.

“Look at what I’ve done.” His voice is rough, still riddled with the remnants of sleep and raw with the cries that ripped from his throat. He pulls back his fingers, now smudged with sticky blood.

He looks so pained by the thought of nicking me with a dagger that I let out a breathy laugh despite the current situation. He looks alarmed by my outburst, which only manages to make me laugh even more.

“Funny,” I huff, “usually I’m the one pressing a dagger toyourthroat.”

I silently wish for a smile to tug at his lips, for those dimples to come out and mock me. But he just stares at me before saying softly, “You’re going to get blood in your hair.”

I might have laughed again at that if it weren’t for his fingers at my throat, making me fall silent. He sits up slightly, slowly sliding one hand to the nape of my neck before lifting my head gently off the pillow and brushing my hair back with the other. He takes his time, letting his fingers run through the silver strands while he cradles my head.

“I would braid it back for you again, but you informed me that I’m no good at it,” he says roughly, so at odds with the gentle way he sets my head back onto the pillow. Without hesitation, he grabs the corner of a blanket and begins softly wiping the remaining blood from my neck.

“You just need more practice, that’s all.”

We both still, content to let the silence stretch between us.

He looks down at me, and I look up at him. I’m lost in the moment, lost in his eyes. There is no smirk to be seen, no smile to be shared, no sarcastic line to be said. Just the two of us, hearts beating wildly, breath leaving shakily.

I blink, realizing what I’m doing, what is going on, what is happening between us. So I clear my throat, slowly shifting beneath him. He takes a breath, understanding what I want and slowly moving off me. Only when the cool air hits me do I realize how flushed I am, how heated my skin has become.

I sit up, tugging up my tank as I do, and slide to the edge of his bed. I can feel his piercing gaze on me as I stand to my feet, suddenly conscious of the little fabric covering my body.

I take a step away.

Another.

Fingers brush the inside of my wrist.

“Stay.”

I still. Time stalls. Breathing ceases.

It’s astounding how severely a single word can affect someone.

“Please.”

My heart trips over itself at the sound of that word from his lips.

“Few have the power to make me plead.”

The weight that my next words hold is pressing down on me, crushing my lungs so no sound can come out of my mouth. What I say next could either drive a wedge between us or drive us closer together. Too close together.

Do I stay? Do I go?

My mind is screaming at me to do one thing, but my heart is pounding, pleading with me to do another. Despite the silence stretching between us, my jumbled thoughts are deafening.

Even with my back still to him, I can feel his eyes on me, feel the ghost of his hands on me, feel what he is doing to me.

What if I don’t say a thing?

Words can only damn if they are spoken.

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